


His Best Trait-His Wiggles

by summerartist



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Childishness, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Silly, Tickling, slight Doctor torment?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:34:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25882171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerartist/pseuds/summerartist
Summary: The Doctor has always prided himself on being able to worm his way out of situations. The Tenth Doctor’s friends put that to the test.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 14





	His Best Trait-His Wiggles

* * *

  
  
The Doctor was stuck. He couldn’t sleep and his body was jammed up in a duct in the TARDIS. It was no doubt an intervention on his time machine’s part. She could have easily widened the gap, but instead she had cinched him in.

“You can’t keep doing this,” he said.

He heard a rumbled response in the back of his mind. She sounded disgruntled.

“It’s tight.” He wiggled his waist and felt something catch at his navel. “Oo! Sharp,” he told her.

Instead of freeing him, the walls and edges around him became smooth and grew a cushioned lining.

“If this is about my sleeping habits, I’ve told you before; You can’t expect me to rest on command. You don’t detain Martha when she neglects her sleep.” He was well aware that he sounded a bit whiny.

He felt the TARDIS negate his guess. The impressions he got from her seemed particularly snappish. The Doctor felt gravity tug him down and he kicked his legs in a futile attempt to slide free. He felt the cushioned lining rise up to brush up against his ribs. She held him securely in place.

“Come on now, this is just impractical.”

After a few minutes of struggling, he opened his mind fully up to her again. He was unable to guess what he had done wrong without more hints. He waited. He got the impression of a dark powerful abyss alight with rings of ecstasy and power. He felt her dread of being torn away, devoured. Her ancient survival instincts sang with an old fear.

The Doctor felt his stomach drop. Had he really- He swallowed and shut his eyes. His mind reached out to her vast consciousness, attempting to caress. It was a bit like a Pilchard attempting to soothe a Blue Whale. He felt her amusement flare briefly before she considered his repentance. The Doctor’s guilt had a tang of sharpness turned too much inward. He felt her grasp that emotion and project it towards her, manipulating it into something familiar.

“Not sure if I can. I’m sorry.”

She accepted his apology and finally set him free. The Doctor slid down the maintenance duct. He landed in a heap of long limbs and made a mental note; From now on, he would avoid doing repairs instead of sleeping whenever he suspected she might be cross. She had let him off this time with a promise that he would be making up for it. He felt her plant her request in his head.

“Already? But you’re at halfway point.” He had expected a tune-up with newer parts in some of her extraneous systems, not this. “Alright, Cardiff it is then.”

She gave a rumble and he chuckled at her reaction.

“Didn’t know you wanted it, old girl.” He supposed that as a biological life form she always performed her best when freshly refueled.

The Doctor stood and dusted himself off. He started walking in the direction of the control room. The end of the hallway vanished and a familiar door manifested itself. He gave her a frown.

“Can’t do anything from there.”

She gave a lengthy response, in which she cemented who called the shots. He raised his eyebrows, but did not dispute the point. He had stolen a very cheeky TARDIS. He sighed. He opened the door, took off his shoes and outer layers, and laid down and had a nap. Their next stop would be Cardiff.

* * *

The Doctor had decided that his companions were cruel and twisted beings. He had trusted them implicitly and this was how they repaid him. They had walked him out into a field in the middle of nowhere and subjected him to this. Martha’s usually gentle hands held his ankle in an iron grip while Jack pinned down the Doctor’s torso with his knee. The Doctor pleaded with them in between gasps for breath. His respiratory bypass nearly kicked in as he attempted to squirm away. Jack applied steady pressure to his back as his fingers found his sensitive Time Lord neck. The Doctor laughed helplessly as tears coursed down his cheeks.

Jack’s extensive knowledge of alien physiology allowed him to tickle the Doctor mercilessly. Martha had joined in, grabbing his kicking foot and trailing her fingers along his bare sole. It wasn’t quite as effective as Jack’s attack on his senses, but few places were as delicate on Time Lords as their throats.

The Time Lords’ bulky collars had not been used solely for ornamentation or the symbolism of the universe resting on their shoulders. Time Lord collars were more like armor. While the Doctor had ceased wearing traditional garb long ago, his tender neck was paying for it now. Worse, his wrists were still tied so that he couldn’t retaliate. The filmy shift he wore did not shield his sensitive underarms and collarbones. He yelped and giggled. He knew that his companions’ intent was to offer a sort of catharsis. And perhaps it was working, but it still felt ruthless.

“Jack! Martha!” He tamped down on his laughter so that they would stop soon. He called out his tormentors’ names again. Martha released his foot and Jack’s fingers eventually stilled.

The Doctor panted and Jack’s hands darted towards his heaving sides. The Doctor rolled away before they could make contact.

“You...are going to regret that,” the Doctor gasped.

“Worth it,” Jack said smugly.

Martha tossed the Doctor a folded penknife so that he could work himself free. The Doctor sawed the ropes loose and sat up. Martha smiled at him apologetically. As always, Jack looked unrepentant.

“Come on, Doctor. Sometimes it helps to have a good laugh.”

The Doctor dried his eyes and patted down his shift. “Where’s my sonic?”

“Here.” Jack tossed it to him. “Pocketed it while they were distracted down there.”

Jack had been instrumental in getting the Doctor out of danger before he could be sacrificed by the bloodthirsty locals. The Doctor had been dunked in the river and dressed in the sacrificial garb by the mob. All along, the Doctor had attempted to reason with them. After he had been rescued from the failed situation, Jack seemed to take issue with his quiet demeanor. The Doctor had thought he had acted cheerful enough, but the immortal had seen right through him.

They had joked and then somehow it had turned into poking and tickling. The bound Doctor had been at an obvious disadvantage. As he had been pinned by Jack and held by Martha, he had only tensed for a moment. Even after the great upheaval of the mob, he had still trusted his friends.

The TARDIS and the Doctor would find entertaining ways to get them back for this. Like Jack had said, sometimes it helped to have a good laugh. He would be sure to return the favor and remind them of that.

* * *

  
  
The Doctor bounced up and down on his sock clad feet. He eyed the noisy behemoth before him. He glanced over at a Jack, who had similarly discarded his shoes. The two wavered, waiting for the count down. Jack gave him a wild grin and the Doctor winked.

Someone started counting down from five. Both of them darted forward on the shout of “Go.” The Doctor jumped and he surmised that Jack must have dived, because he heard the immortal’s almost thunderous impact. As the Doctor weaved up and over the massive formations, he heard some disconcerting noises coming from the parallel side. He wondered what Jack was doing over there. The Doctor squirmed over a vaguely log shaped form and climbed the squishy material. He reached the final hurdle of the giant formation and tore off the bit of fabric that signaled the end of the contest. Jack scurried up the side of the final hurdle, injured and too far behind.

The Doctor’s jaw dropped as the immortal joined him at the top. “How did that happen?” His voice rose up an octave.

“What? Oh.” Jack wiped at his chin. “Friction scrape. You’ll have to kiss it better.”

The Doctor rolled his eyes and slid elegantly off his perch. Jack followed him down off the other side as they hastened to vacate the area. The next round of contestants could be heard making their way over the obstacles.

Martha joined them while commenting on Jack’s unique racing technique. “You both were fast, faster than this lot. Jack just sort of rammed his way through. Oh-” Her gaze went to Jack’s jaw.

She also seemed taken aback that he had somehow managed to injure himself on an _inflatable_ obstacle course.

“Immortal, so it’ll heal right up,” Jack reminded her. “I hear that it heals faster though if a Doctor kisses it.”

Martha huffed. “Alright. Come here, you.”

Jack bounded over like an excited puppy and Martha tilted his head upwards. She gave the tip of his chin a peck, far enough away from the road rash just under it.

“That’s for helping to raise money for the hospital.”

Jack gave a happy hum and watched as Martha also gave the Doctor a peck on the jaw. The Doctor blinked at her. A yell from the teens competing momentarily distracted them. Martha seemed to snicker a bit when she realized that her ancient friends had been the only fully grown adults that had participated.

“Well, Jack was no contest. Would you join me for the next race, Martha Jones?” The Doctor challenged.

“I could beat you with my eyes closed,” Martha scoffed.

The Doctor beamed and Jack followed the two towards the starting line again. Jack was hoping to race Martha after her contest against the Doctor. They handled their losses in a mature way, though bickering and competitive chatter. Enjoyment was had by all.

  
  


The End.  
  



End file.
